


Leap of Faith

by Ms_Yule



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 20:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13325805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Yule/pseuds/Ms_Yule
Summary: When Crowley discovers that Hastur is baying for his blood, he goes on the run with Aziraphale in tow. Aziraphale struggles to come to terms with his feelings for Crowley, and the fear that he might lose him. Both discover the need for sacrifice, and putting someone before themselves.





	Leap of Faith

The sky was clouding over to an ashen grey as a sleek black Bentley pulled hastily up to the curb. A man stepped out, slim and tall and appearing young, although this was far from the case. He wore a pair of dark sunglasses despite the bleak weather, and as he strode across the park he turned up the collar of his coat. He forced himself to keep an even pace, but his eyes flickered constantly over his shoulder behind the shades. The man stopped beside the duck pond and was immediately greeted by several hungry water fowl. He tossed a few handfuls of birdseed into the water absently, too distracted even to torment them.

“You’ve heard, then,” a man sighed, drawing up beside him. He wore a thick wool overcoat and a tartan scarf, and looked almost as nervous as his new companion.

“Morning, angel,” Crowley replied, still staring into the water. “Yeah, I’ve heard. But how did you?”

“Oh, we’ve been keeping a close eye on the other Side since that business last summer. We were bound to notice such a prominent demon on the move.” Aziraphale took a paper bag from his pocket and began sprinkling birdseed into the water.

“I thought they were pretending that never happened.” “You did destroy a duke of your Side with holy water, Crowley. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that your Side never forgets.”

“And your Side is all about mercy and forgiveness, is it?” Crowley snapped. “How did that little matter in the Garden of Eden go again?”

“Really, my dear. I’m trying to help you.”

Crowley ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I know. Sorry.”

“What are you going to do?” “I’m going to run, I guess. Where they can’t find me.”

“I don’t know if there is such a place on Earth.”

“Well, what choice do I have? Hastur is baying for my blood, and if you think I’m just going to sit around waiting to be dragged back to Hell-”

“I won’t let that happen,” Aziraphale said, but his tone wasn’t at all hopeful.

Crowley glanced sideways at him. “You’re a bloody awful liar, angel.” He brushed his hand against Aziraphale’s fingers, and the angel jerked away as though he has been shocked.

“Not here,” he whispered, glancing around at the passersby.

“What are you afraid of?” There was a note of bitterness in the demon’s voice. “There’s no one here to see.”

Crowley gently touched his hand again, and the angel allowed him to interlace their fingers. His digits were hot, his palm slightly damp from perspiration.

“I wish I could do more,” Aziraphale said. “Maybe you could go to Tadfield, see if Adam could change Hastur’s plans-”

“And start another apocalypse while I’m at it? Nah. I don’t think we’d survive it again.”

“There must be some way....”

“Face it, angel: I’m done for. It’s all a part of the ineffable plan.” His tone was sardonic. They watched the ducks scrabble for the last few bits of birdseed, then drift lazily over to another pair.

“At least let me treat you to the Ritz tonight,” Aziraphale said with forced cheerfulness. “A farewell dinner, before you leave.”

“Ooh, tempting, angel,” Crowley quipped, and for a moment the old spirit crept back into his words. “No, thanks. Sorry, I have to pack.”

Aziraphale knew perfectly well that Crowley’s material possessions meant next to nothing to him, but he let it pass. “Oh. Alright, then. I... I suppose this is goodbye.”

“Suppose it is.” Crowley’s voice was uncommonly rough.

“Shall I walk you back to your car?”

They headed towards the Bentley in silence, the angel gripping tightly to Crowley’s hand now. When they reached the car, Crowley stopped and turned to face Aziraphale properly.

“I’m sorry, angel. I thought we’d have more time, to... you know.... Erm. Well, thanks for... yeah. We had a good run, the two of us.”

“You’re bordering on the cliche now, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered. “I know how much you abhor them. Please just promise me you’ll remember what I said? There truly is a spark of goodness in you.”

“Just don’t let yourself be too good, angel. You won’t have me to balance you out any more.” Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s chin in his hand and gently lifted his face for one last look. He gazed hard at the angel, as though to memorize each feature. He was glad the sunglasses hid his eyes. At last he leaned in, hesitantly, and Aziraphale’s eyes widened.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed, voice shaking.

The angel stared at him. “I- I-” He jerked away. “I’d better go.”

Crowley lowered his hand, swallowing the bitter disappointment welling up in his throat. He turned away without another glance. “See you around, angel,” he said tersely, climbing into the car.

“S-see you,” Aziraphale stammered, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Crowley spent the rest of the night alone in his darkened flat, except for a bottle of wine and a score of houseplants which could offer no comfort, and were too petrified to do so in any case. He considered packing several times, but when it came right down to it he couldn’t find anything he cared about enough to go through the effort for.

“Bloody demons,” he muttered to himself. “Bloody Hastur. Bloody Earth.” He took another swig from the bottle. “Save a whole bloody planet and this is what I get. Whoever came up with this ineffable plan royally botched the whole thing, if you ask me.” He flopped down onto his sofa, still clutching the bottle and cursing softly. His eyes passed over the modern furniture, the state-of-the-art media systems, the pristine appliances, and the flourishing plant life. He had spent years building up this particular human persona, but in the end it simply boiled down to piles of stuff. Sleek, modern, extremely expensive stuff, yes, but heartless and soulless all the same. Come to think of it, he wasn’t entirely sure about the state of his own heart and soul. Assuming he had any more than his apartment.

Crowley’s inebriated brain dragged itself away from that topic. It was making him sweat. How did actual humans live with all this uncertainty hanging over their heads? Well, they didn’t, of course. They mostly just didn’t think about it, or else explained it away as part of some great plan.

“Great plan,” Crowley snorted. “Give me a break.” The bottle fell from his slack fingers and crashed to the floor, spilling burgundy liquid over the expensive carpeting. Well, what did he care? He was leaving in the morning, anyway.

Crowley awoke with a screaming hangover which he was forced to dispel before he could contemplate movement. Once the residual alcohol had left his system he stood up and straightened out his disheveled appearance with a thought and a fluttering hand gesture. His watch read eight in the morning.

“Best be on my way, then,” he mumbled. He grabbed his keys from the table and headed for the door. After a moment he paused, turned back, and scooped up a potted fern from a side table.

Crowley rushed down the stairs, flinching at every shadow. Rain was coming down in sheets outside, plastering his hair to his scalp. The demon shook out his keys, then stopped and looked down at them thoughtfully.

“To hell with them!” he exclaimed, casting them aside. They bounced twice and slid into an overflowing gutter.

“Very probably, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale sighed. Crowley whirled around to face the angel, sunglasses still fixed in place.

“Come to see me off, angel?”

“Actually I thought I’d come with you.”

The demon snorted. “There’s nothing you can do, Aziraphale.”

“Except be there. That is rather what we angels do in these situations.”

Crowley stared at him for another moment, then sighed. “Well, hop in if you’re coming. You’re getting soaked out here.”

Aziraphale smiled, his grin lighting up the grey day for a second, and climbed into the car. Crowley slipped into the driver’s seat and snapped his fingers, and the car purred into life.

“So where are we going?” Aziraphale asked.

“I have no idea.” He pulled out onto the road and just drove, with no regard for direction or destination or traffic signals. Crowley’s driving had always seemed to violate too many laws of time and space even for Aziraphale’s comfort, and the angel kept a tight grip on the dash as they rocketed through the streets of central London.

“You alright there, angel?” Crowley asked, shooting a glance at him behind the sunglasses.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re usually shouting at me by now.”

“Oh.”

Crowley fumbled with the car stereo for a moment and shoved a cassette of Mozart Concertos into the player. The first bright chords of Queen’s “You’re My Best Friend” issued from the speakers, and the demon winced and turned the volume down to barely audible levels.

“I’ve always wondered why it does that,” Aziraphale commented, struggling to keep his voice level.

Crowley shrugged. “Who the Hel- I mean, who knows?” T

he angel cocked his head slightly, listening to the music. “You know, I’ve never really minded this one.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

Several tense moments passed before Crowley sighed and turned to look at him. “I’m sorry, angel.”

His words distracted Aziraphale enough to keep him from yelling to watch the road.

“What? About what?”

“About... you know, all of this.” He waved his hand unhelpfully around at their surroundings. “About dragging you down with me.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Oh, come on, angel. You really think your Side will just ignore you going on the run with a demon like this?”

“But you didn’t drag me anywhere, Crowley. I wanted to come. Anyway, it would have happened sooner or later.”

Crowley frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The equilibrium can only hold for so long. It’s what they’re always talking about, isn’t it? One Side finally getting the better of the other? If I’m not mistaken, eventually you would have dragged me down no matter what. Either that, or I would have, well, lifted you up.”

“Pity it couldn’t have been the other way, then.”

“Maybe.”

Soon the tightly packed flats and restaurants gave way to expanses of empty highway. The rain stopped midmorning, but left behind a damp chill and grey clouds.

“You know, I’ve just had a thought,” Aziraphale said, leaning back in his seat.

“What’s that?”

“We can only go so far, really. Sooner or later we’ll run straight into the Atlantic.”

Crowley smiled morbidly. “Maybe that should be Plan A.”

Aziraphale waved a hand, dismissing the idea. “You know perfectly well that would just get both of us temporarily discorporated.”

“Maybe not so temporarily, in my case.”

“We could always take... what do they call it?” Aziraphale continued, as though he hadn’t heard him. “That beastly, unnatural roadway, goes right under the Channel.”

“The Chunnel?”

“Yes, that one.” Crowley’s grin widened.

“Unnatural, angel? That’s rich, coming from your Side.”

“How so?”

“The head honcho of your Side made a big show of walking on water when he fancied a stroll!”

“Yes, but that was _on_ water, not underwater. It’s quite a different matter. I’ve always said that if He wanted humans to travel underwater-”

“He would have given them gills, I know. And if He wanted humans to read books, he would have given them built-in writing utensils, is that it?”

Aziraphale looked suddenly uncertain. “Well, I suppose one must allow for a certain amount of human innovation....”

“Exactly! And if quill pens and printing presses, why not the Chunnel?”

“Your logic is dazzling, my dear,” Aziraphale replied drily, and he lapsed into a sullen silence.

“Speaking of books, have you heard anything from our Tadfield friends lately?” Crowley asked, in an effort to stop Aziraphale’s sulking.

The angel let out a larger huff than was strictly called for by the occasion. “Last month, I believe. They seem well. Young Mr. Pulsifer seems to have taken up vegetable farming, though not very successfully according to Ms. Device. He still keeps an eye on the papers, apparently, waiting to see if anything supernatural pops up again. As for Ms. Device, I believe she’s an investigative journalist now.”

Crowley whistled. “I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of _her_ pen.”

“Indeed. As for Adam and his... posse... he still seems to be a perfectly healthy young man. I understand they recently won a debate competition at school.”

A concerned expression passed over Crowley’s face. “Angel, you don’t suppose...?”

“I doubt it had anything to do with Adam’s... abilities. He’s quite an intelligent lad in his own right. And I understand their victory was in no small part due to Wensleydale running circles around the competition, and Pepper’s flat-out refusal to let anyone else have the upper hand.”

Crowley chuckled. “Those kids will go far.”

Aziraphale smiled back at him. “It does appear that way.”

“Angel....” Suddenly the grin slipped from Crowley’s face. “If I don’t hear from them again, will you... will you tell them good-bye for me?”

Aziraphale gazed down at the Bentley’s carpeting. “Of course.” There was a moment’s pause. “Adam will be devastated.”

Crowley shrugged. “He’s young, he’ll get over it.”

“No, my dear, I don’t think he will. I don’t think... any of them will. They might stop thinking about it as much as the years pass, but these humans really are extraordinarily bad at letting go of the ones they love.”

“And what about you, angel?” Crowley’s voice sounded suddenly more rough. He avoided Aziraphale’s gaze.

The angel followed his lead. “You know how I detest change.”

“That’s not quite what I asked.”

“Oh, look!” Aziraphale said brightly. “Shall we stop in there for lunch?” He waved a hand towards a dingy looking coffee shop and Crowley pulled the car into the parking lot obligingly, trying to hide his disappointment.

“You do realize we don’t need to eat, angel?” Crowley asked as they clambered out of the car.

“Well, yes, but one does sort of... get used to it.”

“Let’s be quick. I don’t fancy Hastur catching us on a lunch break.”

The waitress nodded disinterestedly at them as they entered, and Crowley made sure to grab a table with a good view of the road outside.

“What can I get for you boys?” the waitress asked, sauntering up to them.

“Two egg salad sandwiches and two coffees, please. It’s not quite the Ritz,” Aziraphale continued as the waitress shuffled away, “but it’s my treat.”

Crowley nodded his thanks, still staring out the window.

“If they catch you,” Aziraphale began, trying to catch his gaze.

“You mean _when_ they catch me.”

“ _If_ they catch you, what happens?” Crowley dragged his eyes away from the highway.

“I have no idea. Nothing like this has ever happened before. But I don’t think it’ll be pleasant. My guess? They’ll make an example out of me. They’ve always had it in for me, anyway. Probably hope that whatever they intend to do will stop any other demons from misbehaving in the future.”

“I always thought at the very least your Side lauded the questioning of authority.”

“Not when _they’re_ the authority.”

The waitress approached and set their food on the table, her face never varying from its indifferent expression.

“And so the rebels become the very authority they sought to destroy,” Aziraphale commented. “We’ve seen that pattern over and over in human history. What a shame if we can’t stop ourselves from repeating it.”

“Glad I’m an informative history lesson,” Crowley said, taking a bite of his sandwich. The egg salad was too vinegary, and the bread was already soggy. Aziraphale bit into his, and a look of mild revulsion passed over his face. He placed the sandwich back on the plate.

“On second thought, I’m not terribly hungry,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Maybe there’s some sort of trade we could make. Your Side and mine.”

“Because they have such a great history of working together collaboratively and caring about the health and well-being of their underlings,” Crowley said. “Remember last year? They care about plans, not people.”

“There’s a slogan for the union signs,” Aziraphale said drily. “I’m afraid you’re right. Even so, there must be something we can do. We’ve undone the End of Times, for Hea- for someone’s sake.”

Crowley snorted, and finished his sandwich in a few vicious bites. “Face it, angel, I’m done for. My goose is cooked. I’m in deep shit. Facing the final curtain. I’m—”

“Yes, alright, my dear,” Aziraphale said gently. “I understand. I’m only trying to offer a little hope.”

“ _Hope?_ Angel, when they find me they will drag me down to Hell by my wings and they will torture me.” His eyes were wide and desperate. He had absently picked up a knife from the table, and was grasping the handle hard enough to leave marks in his skin. “They will do it for aeons, they never get tired of it. Prometheus will seem _lucky_ by comparison. They will let their most depraved brains destroy me over and over and there is nothing anyone can do about it. There is no possible hope and all I can do is live out my last few days praying that by some fucking miracle, they decide to just confine me to oblivion for the rest of this Universe’s miserable existence.”

Crowley hadn’t realized it, but his voice had been getting steadily louder and more unhinged as he spoke. When he finished, the entire coffee shop was silent and staring at him. He was breathing heavily. Aziraphale was staring at him, too, his blue eyes wide with shock and fear and pain. And then he broke. The calm façade he’d been struggling to maintain crumbled, and tears welled up in his eyes. He tossed a wad of cash onto the table and rushed from the coffee shop. Crowley cursed under his breath and followed him out. He jogged a few steps to catch up to Aziraphale, who was walking hurriedly towards the car and wiping at his eyes with his sleeve.

“I’m s-sorry,” the angel blurted. “Crowley, I’m so sorry.”

It wasn’t what Crowley had been expecting. “What? Angel, what on Earth do you have to be sorry for?”

“I should be able to fix this. I should be able to do something. At the very least, I should be able to stand with you, to be strong in your time of need. And instead here I am, blubbering like a child.”

They had reached the car now, and Aziraphale turned to face him. His eyes reflected the desperation he’d seen in Crowley’s just moments before, and tears were streaming down his face. “I can’t lose you, Crowley. What will I do without you?”

Crowley hesitated for a moment. “Y-you’ll be alright, angel,” he said, trying his best to sound encouraging. “You’ll figure something out. You’ll-”

A sob wracked Aziraphale’s body, tearing through him with redoubled feelings of loss and anguish. He couldn’t catch his breath. His knees weakened… and Crowley caught him, wrapping his arms around the angel as though he never wanted to let him go. He was crying now, too, and Aziraphale could feel the demon’s suppressed sobs as he pressed his face to Crowley’s chest. His tears fell into Aziraphale’s curly hair.

“I can’t lose you,” Aziraphale whispered, tilting his head up to gaze at Crowley’s tear strewn face. “Not like this.”

Crowley brought his face down to Aziraphale’s, and this time the angel didn’t resist. Their lips met. Aziraphale melted into Crowley’s embrace, releasing a small sigh of startled contentment. His hands traveled up Crowley’s chest and he wrapped his arms around his neck, drawing them still closer together. They pressed into each other, hungrily, desperately, as though to make up for centuries of words left unsaid.

At long last Crowley broke away. “Oh, angel…” he whispered, and his voice was shaking. “We could have had so much time.”

“I’ve been such a fool,” Aziraphale replied. “I should have told you years ago.”

“Tell me now,” he begged.

“Crowley, I lo-”

“How touching,” interrupted a caustic voice from the other side of the parking lot. Crowley and Aziraphale jerked apart and saw Hastur, duke of Hell, striding towards them, a malicious grin on his face. “The traitor angel says a fond, futile farewell to his worthless friend.”

“H-hastur,” Crowley began. “Um. Hiya. Been a while, hasn’t it?”

The demon spat on the ground. “Not long enough.”

Crowley held out his hands, an appeal to Hastur. “I don’t want any trouble….” He tried to back away, but bumped up against the side of the Bentley instead.

“You’re a pathetic excuse for a demon, you Earth-polluted piece of rubbish.”

“I’m not denying that, but look, Hastur….” His knees were shaking. “Is all this really necessary?”

“You’re barely worth the time it took to find you,” Hastur sneered.

“E-exactly. I’m worthless, so couldn’t you just let me go?”

“In your dreams, Crowley. You’ll make a pretty new plaything for the hounds.”

“What am I worth?” Aziraphale asked, his voice ringing through the air. Crowley looked over at him, startled, to find him advancing on Hastur. His wings unfurled as he went, tearing through his clothes, even as his hands began to shake. He spread his arms, palms towards the Duke of Hell, and changed, his true form burning through the grey day with the light of Heaven’s fury. Crowley crumpled to the ground against the side of the car. “I am Aziraphale, Keeper of the Sword,” he said, and his voice now echoed with the strange music of angelic choirs. “I am the Watcher at the Gate. I saw mankind cast from Eden. I bore witness to the Crucifixion. I have walked the halls of Heavenly Fire and seen celestial councils held there. What is my worth, compared to this lowly parasite of Hell? Am I not worth more than this Fallen angel and failed demon, traitor to all causes but his own self-interest?”

“Do you intend to challenge me, angel?” Hastur asked, baring his teeth.

Crowley flinched at his use of what he’d always thought of as his pet name for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale smiled sadly. “No. I intend to propose an exchange. Me for him. My eternal suffering for the demon’s continued freedom. Surely that seems fair, even to you.”

“And you would have us keep this… disgrace as our representative on Earth?”

“And in exchange, Heaven’s representative remains in Hell. You would still have the upper hand.”

Hastur considered this for a moment. “Very well. You would sacrifice yourself for this… pitiful creature?” He gestured back towards Crowley, still huddled by the car.

Aziraphale inclined his head solemnly. “I would.”

Finally Crowley found his voice. “Aziraphale, no! You can’t!”

Hastur grinned. “The bargain is struck!” he declared, thunderously.

Aziraphale began to return to his human form, though he left his wings outstretched. “May I say goodbye?” he asked meekly.

Hastur rolled his eyes. “Be quick about it.”

Aziraphale walked back to the car. Crowley stared at him, his face convulsing with horror, shame, and fear.

“Aziraphale, don’t do this,” he begged.

“I have to, my dear,” he replied, kneeling beside him. “I can’t let them take you. Please know that, in all my years here, you have been my one true friend.”

“Angel…please….”

Aziraphale began to stand up. Crowley clutched at the angel’s clothes desperately. “No… please, angel, no…. Please don’t do this, let him take me. Please….”

Aziraphale laid his hands over Crowley’s and gently detached them from his clothing. He raised Crowley’s hands to his lips, kissing one, then the other, his body obscuring the action from Hastur’s sight. “I have to go.” Finally he rose, and began walking back towards Hastur.

“No, no no no no….” Desperation drew Crowley to his feet again. “Angel!” he cried, as Aziraphale reached Hastur’s side. He turned back to Crowley, only for a moment, with a sad smile on his face. There was a flash of light, the scent of sulfur, and then they were gone.


End file.
